


‘Twas Christmas Eve

by Harlech1000



Category: The Professionals (TV 1977)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:33:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28990038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harlech1000/pseuds/Harlech1000
Summary: Spending Christmas apart wasn’t first on their list of things to do but with Doyle at his flat and Bodie away in parts unknown....
Relationships: William Bodie/Ray Doyle
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	1. - Doyle

The hall clock said 11.45pm when Doyle squelched himself through his front door and dropped the keys on the table below. He slammed the door shut with a heartfelt, “Shit!”, trying to remove his sodden ripped jacket with one hand whilst setting the locks with the other. Both gloveless hands were frozen and he didn’t much like his chances of getting his gun out of its holster without dropping the damn thing and ruining the sight. At least with the safety on he couldn’t shoot himself in the foot. Given how bad the day had gotten that really would set him up for a wonderful Christmas. 

Toeing of his shoes, he shuffled into the kitchen ignoring the lights coming from the living room. He didn’t want to see the brightly lit Christmas tree in the corner , glowing like – well a damn Christmas tree -; that was all Bodie’s fault. Bodie and his liking for electronic gadgets and Christmas tree lights on a timer. It couldn’t go off soon enough for Doyle. He glared at the hapless kettle, as he filled it up and plugged it in. This Christmas was setting up to be one of the worse of his entire life and given his history of shitty Christmases that was saying something. 

It wasn’t all thanks to Terrance “ Terry” McQuire, bomb maker extraordinaire. Although our Terry was responsible for Doyle’s cracked ribs, battered body and head injury ( which wasn’t concussion but he’d probably not notice the difference tomorrow morning). Terry was also responsible for inadvertently saving Doyle’s life. Of course he hadn’t mean’t to but for a man clever enough to make the type of bombs Terry was famous for, he hadn’t twigged that Ci5 would have agent on the backstairs to ensure the startled bomber didn’t escape their clutches. They had grappled on the stairs, Terry had slipped heading downwards and dragging Doyle along with him. Terry had barely a second to go “Fuck” on the landing when Doyle had landed right on top of him. 

Well, Terry was going to have a Christmas he wouldn’t forget – a broken leg, three broken ribs , some spectacular bruising (Doyle’s landing hadn’t been kind) and a Ci5 interrogation special by Agents who were already disgruntled at having pulled Christmas Duty this year and not adverse to taking it out on the hapless Terry.

No, it wasn’t all thanks to Terry that this Christmas had been ruined before it began. Doyle made his tea and carried it into the bedroom, by passing the living room again. He didn’t want to be reminded of yet another Christmas that wasn’t going to be all he hoped for. Stupid of him to hope in the first place, he thought placing the cup on the bedside table and heading towards the shower. He of all people should know better. What he really needed was to get out of his wet clothing, have a good hot shower and go to bed. He’d be able to deal with everything much better after some sleep. When was the last time he’d actually slept - in a bed? For longer than two hours? Two days ago? Three? He couldn’t quite remember. It seemed a long time ago.

No wonder his mind felt as numb as his body at the moment. It was bloody freezing out there. The rain of the past few days had given way to icy coldness and the hint of snow and he’d been in it for the last three hours - apart for the half hour in A&E getting patched up. With his luck they’d have a white Christmas and he’d be stuck in the flat with a thawing turkey , mince pies and a large Christmas Pud for as his only company. That and the Queen’s Message. To think he’d thought their luck was in this year.

When the roster came up and both he and Bodie were not on it, Doyle had been shocked. They’d pulled Christmas Duty for the past four years. Apparently it had finally been noticed and the Cow had decided to be kind for once…well not so much kind as forced to by their own Ice Maiden, Dr Kate Ross. The good doctor had looked at the agent-hours and discovered that a certain 3.7 and 4.5 had been constantly doing far more hours than any other agent for the past few years. Result three whole weeks off starting on 25th December. Bodie had been ecstatic and before Doyle knew what was happening, his fridge had been stuffed with the aforementioned turkey, mince pies, Christmas Pud plus a small Christmas Cake along with cheeses and other goodies that no self-respecting Christmas could be without. Bodie had invited himself to stay at Doyle’s on the understanding that Doyle was doing all the cooking. And Doyle had been looking forward to Christmas ever since. The first time he’d actually looked forward to a Christmas in twenty-four years.

Four days ago, it had all gone to hell in a hand basket. Doyle had been sent to accompany Murphy on wee side trip to talk to a snitch and he returned to HQ a couple of hours later to hear that Bodie had gone to parts unknown; on Private Personal Business and would be away until 8th January. 

Doyle had been aware only then of how much he had been looking forward to this Christmas and how much faith he had placed on Bodie being there with him to share it. He’d still expected to hear from Bodie – just a quick call would have done. But so far nothing and it was now…. Christmas.

The only people out now would be the ones going to the late night Christmas church services. He’d heard the distance bells calling to each other, announcing the various services that would be on tonight. 

Doyle finished his shower and knew he was warming up when the various bruises and injuries started to make themselves known in no uncertain terms. His head throbbed lightly and he fumbled for the paper bag that held the only painkillers he would actually take. 

Swallowing them down with his now cold tea, he noticed the living room was now dark. The timer must have gone off at midnight and the only light in the flat now came from the street lamps through open curtains he couldn’t be bothered to close.

He crawled into bed and wondered what he had ever done in his past to keep getting stuck falling in love with the wrong people. There was a list a mile long; the last one of note was Ann Holly and she had only really been a distraction – a way of avoiding the deepening feelings he had for his partner. It hadn’t worked.

Their burgeoning relationship after a series of close calls, had seem them moved from good friends to lovers. Yet Doyle could not blind himself to the truth. Bodie saw their relationship as partners with benefits - he didn’t do steady or love and romance was for the girls; Doyle knew all that with his head but his heart couldn’t quite grasp the message. It was – as ever – his own downfall. His one big fault. He could never quite extinguish that last little ray of hope – that one last ray of sunshine. The thought amused him, given the number of times he’d been called Sunshine. But still he clung to the dreamt that perhaps, just perhaps Bodie felt more for him that he’d ever admit to.

At least he’d never let Bodie suspect there was anything more between them. Doyle had never let on that he loved his partner. Bodie would never know that little fact. It would mean an end to everything if Bodie ever found out. And with that depressing and uncomforting thought, Doyle fell asleep.


	2. - Bodie

It had started raining as soon as he’d pulled up the driveway of what had been his father’s house. His eldest sister, Sarah, was waiting for him. Her face wearing a fake expression of mild surprise as she watched him get out of the car. “Didn’t think you’d come.” Her voice was sharper than he remembered but the expression of disapproval on her face wasn’t. She wasn’t much changed from the last time he’d seen her six years ago. 

“Neither did I,” Bodie admitted with rare candour, “but he was my father.”  
He grabbed his bag from the seat.

“Paying your respects to the dead,’ her voice was mocking as she turned and led him back into the house. “I’ve put you in what used to be your room first up the stairs. I’m sure you can find it. Then you can join us in the living room. Paul and Rebecca are here already -they’re staying in Paul’s old room.”  
“The more the merrier,” Bodie answered, knowing it would annoy her. The heart that he claimed not to have was sinking. This was going to be more unpleasant than even he had imagined. He shouldn’t really have come and had no idea why he had. 

Sarah made a non-committal sound and left him to return to the living room. As she opened the door, he could hear voices discussing the funeral arrangements. Now wasn’t that nice, he thought ironically, the first time he and two siblings were to be in the same room since he was 16 ,was to discuss their father’s funeral. A man they had all feared and the main reason why running away to sea had been so appealing to the young William Andrew Philip Bodie. 

It was odd - especially for a man who had been a mercenary, had killed for a living, and seen things that would drive any normal man insane- how shocked he’d been to receive the news of his father’s death; unexpected as it had been. His father was only 67.

Paul had been the one to call him this morning and ask him to come. Bodie’s first thought had been “fuck off”, his second, “you’d kidding me”; so what the old man was dead but something inside of him had prodded him and he’d found himself saying “yes, okay I’ll been there” instead. 

Cowley had been unhappy but understanding and less than two hours after the call, he was on his way. His bags had already been half packed in anticipation of spending Christmas through New Year at Doyle’s place. He’d been looking forward to it too. 

Christmas with his mercurial and sarky partner was common but usually they were on duty. Last year, they’d been running through a junkyard in the rain; cold and miserable. This year not being on duty, he’d gone all out, much to Doyle’s disgust. 

Bodie grinned; it had been worth it to see Doyle’s face as they both traipsed round the London area looking for just the right tree; braving Harrod’s for expensive treats that had Doyle complaining at the crowds and the prices all the way home. Still Doyle had gone along with it. Bodie’s smile fell in contemplation– it was funny Doyle normally moaned like hell at having to do even the most basic of meals but with the turkey in the fridge he’d actually offered. Not graciously – that would be too much to expect but “I suppose you’ll want me to cook it” was as good an offer as Bodie had ever heard from his partner. It must mean something – surely? 

It struck Bodie then that these past months with Doyle had been some of the happiest he’d ever known. In fact he hadn’t had a date with a girl for a long time; hadn’t wanted one; hadn’t missed them either. He’d been happy. 

So why had he stuffed it up now? Doyle hadn’t been in HQ and would come back to the news that Bodie had vanished to parts unknown on “personal” business. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he could just see the look on Doyle’s face when he got back on Christmas Eve and explained, “Hey, Ray, you know I said my father was dead...well I lied he was alive but now he’s really dead.” 

That would go down a treat. Doyle would look at him with that blank expression and shrug indifferently. When they’d first been partnered and got over the newness of it all, it had taken Bodie a while to realize the more strongly Doyle felt about something, the more indifferent he would appear. Bodie’s own coping mechanism was to act and pretend nothing ever really mattered. It was only now as he climbed the stairs to his room that he started to realize he’d been lying to himself. Somethings mattered. They mattered a lot.

With a shake of his head, Bodie put Doyle aside. First he had a funeral to help plan and attend. He’d have to stay for the reading of the will now he was here but with any luck, it’d all be over by Christmas Eve which would still leave him time to get back by Christmas Day. It didn’t occur to him until a lot later than he’d gone automatically into military mode, treating the situation as a operation rather than the death of a parent.

Bodie dropped his bag on the bed and looked around. The bed was the same so was the desk under the window with the old chair but along the way his room had been wallpapered in pink Chintz and the carpet was pale beige with a swirly pattern. It made him think of an old folk’s home. He found it hard to believe that he’d spent over ten years in this room. There was nothing of the boy he had once been here. The boy with dreams that didn’t involve joining the family transport business – a fact his father had not been able to understand. His mother had been baffled and all she could say was “it would be so nice for you to follow your father and brother into the family firm…no many boys have the advantages you have, you ought to be grateful. I don’t understand why you’re not.”

Wandering across to the desk, he saw even it had been varnished to an inch of its life– all the marks of his childhood smoothed away. He looked down on to the street and saw some kids playing just like he had once, kicking a ball about even in this weather. Bodie found it hard to relate to the boy he had been here; there was nothing to bridge the gap between boy and man. The man he was now didn’t look back; didn’t get involved. He was here just to sort out and attend a funeral. Speaking of which, Bodie turned on his heel and headed downstairs to join the rest of his family.

When he entered the living room, he found his brother Paul and Rebecca, his wife, sat together on the sofa. It had been six years since he’d seen them last and they didn’t appear to have changed. Paul would probably own the transport business so beloved of his parents. His father had been very much a chauvinist. Rebecca looked up and smiled at him. “Its been a while, Will.”

“Six years. You’re looking good,”. Bodie answered smoothly out of habit. He hated the name Will but had given up trying to get them to call him anything else. He was to his family always “Our Will”.

“Hey, Will. Still with the civil service,”. Paul nodded to him. It wasn’t a question just a standard remark. They didn’t have much in common afterall.

“You know my fascination with paper clips,” Bodie quipped with a wide grin, and a waggle of the eyebrow.

Sarah was sat in the large armchair by the tv and her husband, Peter, was sat in what had been his mother’s chair. They were going through a list on the table, Sarah’s finger paused on one line. They looked up together and Peter nodded his head. “Will.”

“What do you think to How Great Thou Art?” Sarah asked him seriously.

It took Bodie a second to realize they were on to the hymns and when he did, he shrugged. “I don’t know – did he like it. What did he like?”

“Not going to church.” Peter muttered under his breath but not quiet enough; Sarah glared at him. “Well its true. The last time your father was in Church was for your mum’s funeral.” Peter defended himself, looking to Paul for support. 

“It’s true, sis.”

Bodie had been overseas then and hadn’t found out about his mother until he arrived back in England two years later and had gone to visit them – obligation and duty rather than through any real desire. He hadn’t been close to his mother – he had been an unexpected late arrival and scuppered all the plans they had made for an early retirement - and her death hadn’t really bothered him. It still didn’t and he couldn’t find it in himself to feel any guilt over it.

“He liked listening to Hymns on Sunday…” Sarah pointed out and the discussion continued. 

Bodie found a spare dining room chair and sat down to listen to the conversation about the rest of the arrangements. He didn’t get involved unless they specifically asked for his opinion. It struck him forcibly that he really really didn’t belong here. The temptation to get up and leave grew stronger. Weird that, he felt more at home in the midst of gunfire with Doyle at his back than he did here with these people who were related to him by blood. They wouldn’t understand that and he couldn’t explain it either. 

By the day of the funeral, Bodie was almost climbing walls with the sheer monotony of it all. His family were as interesting as dust on the mantelpiece. When Wednesday morning dawned, he was relieved. It was a miserable day and the funeral was like most of the other funerals Bodie had been to in his lifetime. 

It was a good turn out. His father had been well known if not well liked. All in all it went well. Except for Bodie there was something missing. A hole at his side were Doyle normally stood. He couldn’t believe how much he could miss the aggravating sod. Doyle would have seen the humour in the various incidents through out the day; he would have alleviated the boredom with sarcastic wit levelled at all the mourners including Bodie’s family. Doyle was remarkably adept at reading people. 

It was at the wake, held back at the Bodie Family Home, that Bodie found out from his father’s long time solicitor, that the will was to be read two days from the funeral – Christmas morning. All the family were expected to attend. “Your father was most particular on that. He informed me that anyone not present at the reading would forfeit any inheritance under the terms of the Will.”  
“Can you do that?” Sarah asked, overhearing as she carried the tray of sandwiches around the gathering.  
“Oh yes, whether it will hold up in Court is another matter,” the solicitor nodded and picked a cucumber sandwich which he ate with obvious relish. ”But taking it to court is an expensive and time consuming action. And the Judge may still up-hold the will.”

Another day of sheer boredom. Bodie shuddered. Christmas Eve and Christmas morning with his family. For the first time in fourteen years…they were all going to be under the same roof for Christmas. Bodie honestly couldn’t think of anything worse. Oh, yes he could…Doyle not forgiving him for running away without a word…again.

Christmas Eve was as bad as Bode thought it would be. After tea he was driven out into the cold, to lean on the front porch; there was no way in hell he was going to sit down play a game of scrabble – seriously scrabble! - on Christmas Eve. And if that wasn’t bad enough, his father had turned teetotaller several years ago apparently and the house was devoid of anything that could make the evening bearable. Sarah had refused Bodie’s offer to go to the nearest bottle store. “This is father’s house and he didn’t approve of drinking. There’ll be no alcohol here.”

Bodie patted his flask, glad he’d had the whisky in his bag and began to plan his escape. There was no way he was going to miss Christmas Day with Doyle. This farce had gone on long enough. Old habits died hard, even in his grave his father was trying to control his children. And really what did his father have that he couldn’t do without. He wanted nothing from his father’s estate. Not a thing. So why was he here? 

Bodie leaned on the wet railing. He was here because he was a fool. It was time to go back home and face the music. Because the one thing he never wanted to be without was there. When had the friends with benefits become something else, he didn’t know. He only knew it had and it was time to lay his cards on the table before he lost the game.

About to indulge in a warming mouthful from the hip-flask, Bodie stopped and slid back into the shadows without thinking as the front door opened and Sarah’s eldest, Simon, charged out; his mother close on his heels.

“You don’t get it. I don’t care!” The young man was waving his arms around angrily. “I have somewhere else to be.”  
“Don’t you turn your back on me!” Sarah snapped back. “You don’t get to avoid your responsibilities to this family. Just because you want to go visit ……your friend.” Sarah obviously did not approve of said friend. “You will be staying here. That’s all there is to it.”  
“Why?” Simon shot back turning to face his mother.  
“The will is being read tomorrow and we will all be there including you. Your friend is not as important as your family.”

Shades of his father, Bodie thought, controlling, demanding.

“My boyfriend!” Simon corrected abruptly, throwing the word at his mother, he was goading her. “Boyfriend – he is my family.”  
“Don’t be childish – you are not one of THEM.” Sarah spat back disgustedly. “Why you think it necessary to embarrass us by pretending. I don’t know. Neither your father nor I will be giving you a lift to the station tomorrow and that’s an end to it. If you want to sit out here and sulk be my guest. I’m going inside!”  
“Mothe.…”  
“Enough Simon!” Sarah cut him off angrily. “I’m not going to repeat myself. When you’re ready to behave like an adult, come inside.”

Bodie watched as Sarah glared her son into silence, turned on her heel and reentered the house, the door slamming behind her. It was the kind of scene he’d often seen growing up in this house. Only then it was either Sarah or Paul out in the porch cooling their heels.

He moved from the shadow and when Simon became aware of him raised an eyebrow and waited.  
“Don’t you start Uncle Will. I’ve had enough from Mum. You heard all that I guess.”  
Simon glared at him and Bodie found himself almost wanting to laugh at that childish expression of defiance on the face of a twenty year old man. Simon was only just starting to break away from parental control.

“Not all - how about you fill me in and while you’re at it I’m Bodie… just Bodie.”  
“Fill you in - why you don’t get it? Are you stupid or something?” Simon came back mocking.  
“That was your mother speaking,” Bodie pointed out levelly.  
There was silence, as his nephew digested his words then slowly Simon began to speak, obviously feeling his way. “You wouldn’t understand.”  
“Try me,” Bodie straightened up and moved further into the light. His eyes hardened and the air of menace he employed with good effect at work, had the same effect on his nephew.  
Simon’s eyes widened. “You’re not a civil service pen-pusher.”  
“Tell me what I wouldn’t understand.” Bodie ignored the comment.  
Simon threw up his hands. “Okay okay...I have a boyfriend and I promised him I would be with him and his family on Christmas Day and I’m not breaking a promise. I don’t care about Granddad’s will.. I don’t want anything from the old scrote anyway. He can keep his money. I wouldn’t even be here except Vic said I should…support my parents and all that. He doesn’t understand…he thinks my family is like his. His parents accept him and …me. You don’t know what it’s like to gay….” Simon leant against the railing and looked out, turning his back on Bodie. 

It was raining heavily now and the temperature was dropping. Bodie eyed the young man thoughtfully. “Does Vic mean that much to you?”  
“Yes,” Defiantly. Then. “I miss him.”  
“What of your parents?”  
“They don’t want a gay son.” Simon answered so matter-of-factly that Bodie cringed. The kid hurt.

Emotions were not his forte that was Doyle’s. Doyle would know what to say. Doyle always knew what to say. Doyle was the bleeding hearted liberal one of them. Doyle…Doyle was the one he missed as much as Simon was missing his boyfriend. Simon was twenty years old enough to know his own mind and his own orientation. And he was braver than Bodie had been at his age. Simon was prepared to stand up for himself.

“Doyle you are going to so owe me for this one,” Bodie muttered to himself as he braced himself to take a leaf out of Doyle’s book of life. He’d never gone against his father’s wishes openly; Bodie had simply run away to avoid emotional conflict and he had been doing it ever since.  
Simon was watching him with an expression that suggested he doubted his Uncle’s sanity. As well he might. “What?”  
“Never mind. What time do you need to be at the station?”  
“Seven am,” Simon answered suspiciously. “Why?”  
“Okay I’ll take you.”  
“You?” Incredulously Simon stared at him. Bodie nodded.  
“You serious?”  
“I don’t joke” Bodie answered blandly. 

There was a long pause as Simon searched his face then the young man grinned at him. “Thanks.” Another pause. “ Why aren’t you telling me about the evils of being gay.”  
Bodie laughed. “I may be many things but a hypocrite isn’t one of them. Beside…” Bodie threw an arm around Simon’s shoulders. “I have somewhere else I need to be too. Come on lets go inside, its bloody cold out here and there’s eggnog in there.”  
“Its an alcohol free house,” Simon pointed out grimly humorous.  
“I have a cure for that.” Bodie tapped his coat pocket with his free hand. “Let’s go play nice.”  
“You know …for a Bodie you’re weird.”  
“You don’t know the half of it son,” Bodie grinned and led the way back into the warmth.  
“Did you really run away to sea at 16?” A Bodie’s affirmative nod. “Why?”  
“Seemed a good idea at the time”. 

It was past 11am Christmas Day when Bodie finally pulled up in front of Doyle’s building. He had dropped Simon off with a friendly way and a swapping of numbers at 6.50am and had been on his way by 7.00am.

His luck was in when he saw the free park out front of Doyle’s building just behind Doyle’s vehicle. For a moment he stayed in the car wondering what he was going to say to his partner – his lover. He’d just up and left after all. Hadn’t phoned, hadn’t left a message. 

But Doyle didn’t cook for just anyone. He’d let Bodie turn his living room into a lighting extravaganza – on a timer. He’d looked after Bodie when injured; he’d been there anytime Bodie had let him and often when he didn’t. Bodie knew Ray and knew him well – it was just he hadn’t wanted to name that look in Doyle’s eyes; hadn’t wanted to know that Doyle felt more for him than just friends with “benefits”. Because that would mean Bodie would have to face his own feelings and things where fine the way they were (they weren’t). A visit home and a twenty year nephew had shown his actions up for what they were. Cowardice. And that didn’t sit well wth Bodie at all. It wasn’t who he was. So it was time to take the bull by the horns and face the truth.

Grabbing his bag – failure wasn’t an option and the plan had been to stay with Doyle for the whole of their holiday- he headed into the building up the stairs and let himself in to the flat with his own key.

“Its only me…sorry I’m late.” He called out as he put his bag down and hung his jacket up.

When he turned back, Doyle stood in the bedroom door, watching him. He looked like crap and was standing in a way Bodie recognised as “rib damage”. 

Bodie’s semi planned explanation went out the window. “What the hell happened to you?”  
“Terry McQuire.” 

“McQuire?” Bodie was in front of Doyle with no recollection of how he’d crossed the hall. He touched the black eye, the bruised cheek with a gentle hand. “What else?” He demanded. 

Doyle shrugged out of his grasp. “Does it matter? They said you were away till 8th January on private business.” 

“When you’d promised to cook me Christmas dinner? Turkey and all the trimmings.” Bodie raised his eyebrow. “You think I’d miss that?”

Doyle froze. Silence. Then slowly Doyle turned around. Neutral green eyes just watched him uncertainty.

“I missed you, Ray.” Gently, honestly.  
“Really?”  
“Yes. Really. I should have told you where I was going and why…” Bodie stepped forward. “And I will…I promise but can it wait until after Christmas Day. I’ll tell you everything.” And he mean’t it. Because it suddenly hit him that home wasn’t a place. Home was a person. Home was Raymond Doyle. “We have a lot to talk about.” He stepped closer and Doyle let him.  
“We do?” Still neutral; not giving anything away. Doyle was waiting.

Bodie caught and held Doyle’s gaze. They had always been good with silent communication. A look could give them a complete plan of action. He saw the moment Doyle realized; saw the response in the green eye and saw too the flicker of doubt. Doyle wasn’t going to help him this time. He had to make the leap of faith and it was surprisingly easy “We do..but lets first have the Christmas we planned. Together…just you and me. Us.”  
“Us?”  
“Us.”  
He didn’t need to further explain. The look in his eyes as Doyle searched his face had given him away.

Doyle’s face lit up in reply with his rare wide smile. “Then I’d better put the turkey on.”  
“And tell me how Terry McQuire of all people managed to give you a black eye.”  
“He didn’t - that was the fall down the stairs.”  
“Fall down the stairs?”  
“Yes – I landed on our Terry.”  
“Hmm? ”  
“Don’t think he meant to play cushion…” Doyle reflected pausing under the door arch.  
Bodie didn’t have to glance up. Drawing Doyle to him, he held him tight. “ “Knew that mistletoe would come in handy.” He murmured softly.

Doyle put up a hand, stopping him, his eyes serious “Don’t ever do that to me again Bodie.”  
“I won’t I promise.” Bodie paused. Now or never. “Ray, I love you.” It was easier to say than he thought and the expression in Ray’s eyes told him his feelings were returned. But he guessed he’d always known that -really. Bodie pressed his lips to Doyle’s.... 

There was silence. A very long silence under the mistletoe……

When they finally broke apart, Doyle just looked at him. “You’d better I don’t cook turkey for just anyone…”


End file.
